


High As A Motherfucking Kite

by wilbruh



Series: Us Against The World [3]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drug Use, Duck Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Marijuana, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Piglin Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Sad Ending, Substance Abuse, anyway, haha weed, i really fucking hate that quackitys name is on his tag, i still dont understand how to tag, its not mentioned but he is 1, its ok man trust me, kindaaaaaaa, oh i found the tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:35:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29352078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilbruh/pseuds/wilbruh
Summary: Tommy fucking hated weed.He hated the smell, he hated the way it always clung to his brother’s clothes, he hated the way that Wilbur seemed to be smoking more and more lately..Or, Wilbur is a stoner and Tommy is getting real fucking sick of this shit.(Could be read as a stand alone, but is ultimately part of a series.)
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Us Against The World [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145831
Comments: 11
Kudos: 147





	High As A Motherfucking Kite

**Author's Note:**

> wassup motherfuckers i cannot access discord at the moment so those in the writers block if you happen to come across this, just know that big man will is alive.
> 
> i realised as i wrote this that i havent exactly written the context behind why tommy refers to wilbur as his brother. so here it is in the least spoiler terms i can manage. tommy isnt exactly aware? that wilbur is his dad? that's all the context needed.
> 
> the plot fics i had planned are all pretty much done, but they will have to wait to be posted for personal reasons
> 
> anyway, enjoy! im posting this in class lmao

Tommy fucking hated weed.

He hated the smell, he hated the way it always clung to his brother’s clothes, he hated the way that Wilbur seemed to be smoking more and more lately.

See, Tommy didn’t blame Big Q per say, Big Q was great. He was hilarious and his time with Schlatt really helped them organize their revolution better (And the gods know that they fucking needed it, Wilbur was not the most organized of people).

But, ever since Quackity came and joined them, Wilbur seemed to be smoking more and more. And Tommy hated it.

He especially hated it at the moment. Tommy _needed_ to talk to Wilbur, it was urgent. They had things to fucking do, wars to prepare for. 

And his older brother was fucking _baked out of his mind_ alone in the dark, slumped against the wall. Wilbur was barely responsive, probably passed the fuck out, and honestly, the only thing that even alerted Tommy of what Wilbur had been doing was the fact that he reeked. It was not pleasant.

Tommy wanted to take all of Wilbur’s stash and burn it. Not to smoke- wait, burning the weed was not a good idea. He could end up getting them all fucking high from the smoke. Maybe he could throw it in the lake and hope Wilbur doesn’t notice?

Not important at the moment. He had a six foot five motherfucker limp in his arms, refusing to cooperate.

“Wilbur, man, you gotta help me out here.” Tommy muttered, trying to drag the lanky idiot into his bed. “You can’t just pass out against the wall. You’re gonna get a major fucking headache in the morning and then I’m the one who will have to deal with you, and I don’t really want to do that.”

Wilbur did not respond. Typical.

Tommy sighed, and tucked him into the blankets. Whatever he had to say (he had forgotten already anyway. It probably wasn’t as important as he thought it was) could wait until tomorrow. 

For now though, he had a stash of weed to find and throw out, and a Big Q to chew out. Wilbur could wait.

______________________________

Wilbur was stoned again. Tommy was getting real fucking tired of his brother’s shit. 

“Tommy! Hey, Tommy!” Wilbur cried when he saw him. “Spitfire, come sit! Sit with us!” He slapped the ground next to him. He was smiling too fucking wide. Tommy wanted to punch that stupid smile off his stupid face.

Big Q nodded enthusiastically from where he sat plastered to Wilbur’s side. God, he forgot how clingy Wilbur could get when he was high.

Tommy looked over at Techno, glaring at him. “You just _let_ them get high?”

Techno shrugged. “I don’t really care.” Tommy narrowed his eyes. Fucking pig.

“Go away, I’ll be on babysitting duty.” More like sobering up duty.

He reached over and plucked the joint from Wilbur’s hands. 

  
“Tommy, Tommy, spitfire, you are too young for that.” Wilbur made grabby hands for the joint. “Ask first and I’ll think about it.”

Tommy scowled. “Nope.” He stubbed out the joint on the ground. “No more smoking today.”

Quackity started booing him. “Dude, that was our last one!”

“Too bad.” Tommy picked up the joint and shoved it in his pocket. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and made a mental note to do laundry later. “Time to sleep off the high.”

Quackity lit up at the thought of sleep. Big Q never seemed to sleep enough these days. (None of them did, really.)

Wilbur wilted. “I don’t want to go to bed.” Wilbur protested.

“No choice. C’mon big man. Time to sleep.” Wilbur got up anyway. Good on him.

Walking towards the bedrooms was hard, with Wilbur leaning heavily on one side and Big Q deciding that he needed to do the same on the other. Jesus Christ, they were _adults_. Tommy should have to deal with this.

Quackity’s damn wings were dragging on the floor and making it fucking harder. When he woke up, Tommy was going to give that man a piece of his mind.

He decided to forgo taking them to their individual rooms, and to unceremoniously dump them both onto WIlbur’s bed. They were both clingy as fuck when high, and Tommy knew Wilbur liked to cuddle. (Not that he’d tell anyone. Over the years it had been Wilbur, Tommy and Fundy all cuddled in a single bed despite each having their own. Wilbur used to let Tommy, and Fundy eventually, sleep with him in the same bed whenever they were scared. The habit never really seemed to break.)

Wilbur woke up to a pounding headache, a warm body and a dry as fuck mouth. He could smell something cooking from the kitchen and his stomach rumbled.

He managed to unattach himself from Quackity’s tight as fuck grip, and slowly made his way down to the kitchen. The lanterns in the ravine were too fucking brighy, holy fuck.

He wasn’t really concerned with why he was laying in bed with Big Q. Most often than not, when Wilbur couldn’t remember much from the night before and he woke up with the bird hybrid around, he knew he had probably smoked himself silly. Or got violently wasted but that was _one_ time.

Damn, whatever was being made smelled pretty good right now.

Wandering into the kitchen, it did not escape his notice that Tommy was cooking something for once. Tommy almost never cooked? It was usually Techno who provided their meals. (Not lately, Techno was gone more and more but Wilbur didn’t know that.)

“Morning.” Wilbur greeted, sitting down and rubbing his temples. 

“It’s nine at night Will.” Tommy shoved a plate in front of him with a cup of milk. Potatoes, like usual, and carrots over some sort of meat. Looked decent. He also gestured to the clock hung up on the wall. “You need to stop getting high in the middle of the day, you have fucking work to do. We have a country to get back.”

Wilbur winced.

“You know what, maybe you should stop getting high in the first place. I don’t like it, this whole ravine smells like pot and it’s fucking awful.”

“I’m sorry, spitfire.”  
  


Tommy studied him, his eyes never leaving Wilbur’s face. “Are you _still_ high? I thought the milk would have helped at least.”

“What?”

“You only call me that when you’re high. Or drunk, but you haven’t been drinking much lately.”

Wilbur winced again. Fuck, he was a terrible father.

“I’m really sorry Toms. I can try to stop?”

Tommy frowned. “You shouldn’t have to stop. You shouldn’t have done this in the first place.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tommy scowled, and opened his mouth to say something back, most likely any swear you could imagine, but Quackity chose that moment to walk in. Tommy took the chance to round on the man, in his face about the weed.

Once the two older men were sat with food and milk in front of them, Tommy made a grand show of searching the ravine for any and all drugs he could find. He made a big show of dragging them upstairs to toss them into the lake. He made a big show of yelling at them about what would happen if he found them doing it inside the ravine again.

Tommy was pleased, when weeks passed and Wilbur wasn’t seen with a single joint. Tommy was pleased with thinking that Wilbur was getting better.

The alcohol bottles piling in his ~~brother’s~~ father’s room would say otherwise. Not that the teenager knew they existed.

Wilbur wanted to keep it that way.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> OH I DIDNT PUT CONTEXT FOR WHY THIS EXISTS LMAO A FRIEND AT SCHOOL REMINDED ME THAT WILBUR CANONICALLY SMOKED WEED AND SHIT AND I WAS LIKE 'i can do somthing with this"
> 
> so those in the writers block, when i get back expect a LOT of substance angst. i earned that title for a damn reason
> 
> and as usual, heres the doc title: "wilbur soot is a god damn stoner how did i not see this before im going to cry"
> 
> (edit: MOTHER FUCKER IM SORRY I HAD TO FIX SOMETHING ITS ALL GUCCI NOW LMAO)
> 
> \- will


End file.
